


And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand

by ghostofgatsby



Series: I'd kill for you. I'd die for you. I'd live for you. [9]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Date Night, Drinking, Food, Frottage, Kissing, Lingerie, M/M, Rimming, Urban Magic Yogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 18:26:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8678443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofgatsby/pseuds/ghostofgatsby
Summary: In the early years of Sips’ reign as king, trust between himself and his fae court was just beginning to be built. Finding themselves home alone with an empty fridge, Sips takes Trott out to a fancy dinner. The mortal king reflects on the closeness he’s developed in the short time he’s known Trott in particular.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Early Sips GC, after they bought Sips his hat crown.
> 
> Sips and Trott go out on a date.
> 
> cw: drinking, horse-fucking jokes again, sex, mention of drowning/murder, bruises, technically? creampie/felching?? technically? IT’S SO HARD TO WRITE RIMMING SCENES.  
> If I need to tag something else, let me know.
> 
> (I mean, if you have a problem with horse-fucking jokes now, you're in the wrong AU buddy. soz)
> 
> title comes from Shakespeare’s Sonnet 60:  
> http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174362
> 
> reblog: https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/11/28/and-yet-to-times-in-hope-my-verse-shall-stand-ghostofgatsby/

Sips hops up the cracked porch steps and into the apartment. Another work day done, and he’s itching for a good meal to sate his hunger. He strolls into the kitchen and finds Trott looking in the fridge for something to eat.

“Hey, Trott. Smith and Ross out?” Sips asks. The apartment was too quiet without them.

“Yeah, they’re...somewhere.” Trott gestures vaguely towards the living room and the windows that look downtown. He closes the fridge door with a sigh and turns from it to look at Sips. “Want to get dinner? There’s nothing to eat here and who knows when they’ll be back.”

“Sure.” Sips smiles and loosens the tie around his neck. “In fact, since I’m still dressed, how about I take you someplace nice.”

“Nice?” Trott raises his eyebrow skeptically.

“Yeah. My treat.” The corners of Sips' eyes crinkle when he smiles.

“Alright.” Trott smiles back curiously. “How fancy do I need to dress?”

“As fancy as you’d like.” Sips shrugs and gestures at the suit he wore to work. “Something matching mine should do the trick.”

“Okay. Give me half an hour, I’ll see what I’ve got.”

 

Sips calls for a cab in a half hours’ time, and takes a seat on the couch in his designated spot while Trott gets ready. He throws his arm over the back of the couch, and puts his feet up on the coffee table. He bought his court the couch when he moved in with them, to replace their old futon thing with broken boards and numerous unidentifiable stains. Naturally, Sips had to test each couch in the furniture wholesale warehouse, which only served to piss off a grumpy Smiffy, who kept walking around the store in annoyance.

 

“You got ants in your pants, Smiffy?” Sips asked as Smith paced past him for the fifth time.

Smith stopped in confusion. “What? _No_.”

“Sit down, then.” Sips patted the cushion beside him.

Smith ground his teeth. “We’ve been here for three fucking hours, just pick a damn couch!”

“You got money in those pockets?” Sips asked, eyes focusing pointedly at where Smith’s hands were hidden, jingling the keys in his pockets.

“I’m gonna get something else out of my pockets in a minute, you fucking bastard,” Smith said through his teeth, “I’ve got money, lets go- I’ll take you out. How ‘bout a burger?”

Sips raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to take me out to Burger King _again?_ ” he asked dryly, “Must I _really_ be crowned the King of Burgers once more?”

“I should take that crown off your fucking head, Sips,” Smith growled, “Much more of this fucking waiting and I’m gonna.”

Sips mock-sniffled and clutched a hand over his heart. “I knew this day would come. You’re finally going to do me in. Is your procrastination streak going to end at last?”

“Shut the _fuck up_ , Sips. I’m so sick of this place,” Smith complained, “Pick something and lets go! There’s nothing but fucking boring furniture, and it smells like old people in here.”

“Waaaah,” Sips mocked. He made himself more comfortable on the couch. “Get used to it.”

“Dammit, Sips, _come on!_ ” Smith groaned towards the ceiling, practically stamping his feet like an unrepentant child.

“Nope. We’re not leaving until I find a couch I like, Smiffy, so quit ripping your dick off.”

“Gonna rip _your_ dick off in a minute...” Smith grumbled, kicking a recliner and nearly losing his balance in the process.

“You damage the merchandise, you pay for it,” Sips warned, “And get your hands outta your pockets before you fall over, jeeze o’ pete...” The mortal king heaved himself up out of the couch he was sitting on with a sigh. He strolled along the lines of couches and recliners, just long enough for Smith to get hopeful, and then flopped down onto the next couch contestant.

Smith let out an aggravated snarl.

“Might as well get comfy, Kermit,” Sips drawled, gesturing to the expanse of couches around them. “We’re going to be here for awhile.”

“Please tell me we’re at least fucking on it when you decide,” Smith grumbled. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Fucking? On my couch?” Sips raised his eyebrow with a smile. “Who said you could even sit?”

Smith walked off again, making angry noises through his teeth, and frustratedly flipping Sips off as he did.

 

Sips smiles and adjusts the crown on his head.

Not much later, they had settled on a couch, paid, and loaded it into the pick-up truck Smith had stolen in order to bring it home. Poor Ross still couldn’t sit on couches without breaking the seats, but that was fine by the gargoyle. He liked sitting by the others’ feet, and Sips rather liked it, too. What’s a king without his loyal subjects?

Sips slowly just...started living at their apartment. Smith gave him a key, winked, and said to "Come and visit anytime you like, not necessarily in that order.”

At first Sips just brought a duffel bag of clothes for a day, or a weekend, but then his clothes started accumulating in the apartment (mostly on the floor, because of Smith). A weekend became a few days, became most of the week. And he figured, why bother going back to his mansion when there’s nothing really there? No company, no home-cooked meals...no camaraderie from his court day-by-day. He’d lived alone for years now, and he’d never admit to needing someone around, but the place he used to live didn’t have the charm the apartment did.

Sure, the tap water was shit, the lights needed replacing, and everything creaked, but the apartment was home. Sips planned to put a little money in here and there, fix some things when Trott wasn’t paying too much attention. It wasn’t as if the place was a wreck, but...it could use a little TLC. But Trott managed the court’s finances so closely that Sips could hardly persuade him to get a new coffee pot, much less the couch when they did. The longer Sips lived at the apartment, the more Trott warmed up to him, but in the beginning it was impossible to persuade him. Every time Sips had offered to pay for things, the selkie outright refused.

 

“We can take care of ourselves. We don’t need your money,” Trott told him sternly, slamming his bag onto the counter. He’d come home from work to find Sips had replaced their refrigerator with something brand new- black and chrome, shiny and expensive.

“I know you’re not a charity case, Trott,” Sips clarified, “I’m just trying to help out.”

“Well, _don’t_ ,” Trott snapped, “We belong in the fucking garbage; we’ll scavenge just fine. We don’t need delusions of something we can’t afford.”

Sips frowned at Trott’s retreating back as the selkie stormed out of the kitchen. It was more than the money that had bothered Trott, but Sips had let him go for the time being. They ended up talking about it later that night, when Trott had de-stressed from work, and Smith and Ross had gone out to make a racket somewhere else.

Sips sat, leaning up against the tub next to Trott as he watched him paint his nails.

“I’m not going to take your money...” Trott murmured, hand shaking as he tried to paint with his non-dominant hand.

Sips took the brush from him, and Trott’s eyes met his with a stern expression.

“Why do you think it’s so wrong to let me pay for things?” Sips asked, holding his other hand out for Trott’s unpainted one.

Trott glanced up at the embroidered hat on his head, and looked away. “You weren’t supposed to be permanent,” he grumbled. He gently laid his hand in Sips’.

“I don’t think I’m going anywhere anytime soon. I pretty much live in this apartment, if you haven’t noticed,” Sips replied, finishing the nail Trott had started. The orange polish shined in the bathroom light, wet and glistening with every brushstroke.

“I noticed. Hard not to, when I come home and see you on the couch, or find you in our bed.”

“Do you mind?” Sips asked.

Trott shook his head. “Not at all.” The selkie stared at the closed bathroom door, not meeting Sips’ eyes.

Sips slowly painted the next nail on Trott’s hand. “Why won’t you let me contribute?” he asked.

Trott was quiet for a long moment. “Because we don’t _need_ anybody. We’ve always been able to take care of ourselves. Expensive, fancy things aren’t in our budget.”

“You think you can’t sustain it?”

“I know we can’t...” Trott sighed. “I can hardly pull enough funds together for our parties, sometimes, and we need those to keep our court running.”

“It doesn’t have to be a struggle. That’s what I’m offering to help with,” Sips said softly. He reached over Trott to dip the brush into the bottle again, and continued painting Trott’s nails. “You said you’re ‘garbage for a reason’, but I’m your king. You’re not the only one who has to provide anymore.”

“We can’t rely on mortal means, Sips,” Trott muttered, “Because mortals don’t last forever.”

Sips scoffed, shaking his head, “We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about money.”

“You’re practically made of it.”

“So what’s a few things here and there, huh? A tv, a fridge, new tires for Smith’s car?” Sips smiled. “It’s not excessive. Normal people buy this kinda shit all the time, on paychecks lower than yours. They’re way more extravagant. And who says you can’t splurge every once in a while? On something that isn’t a party?”

“We can’t,” Trott said, “It doesn’t work like that, in our world.”

Sips finished painting Trott’s nails with a sigh, and carefully returned the brush to the bottle. “Trott,” he said, still holding Trott’s hand firmly without smudging the polish.

“Sips,” Trott echoed, staring at him sternly.

The mortal king looked back at Trott with a small, weary smile. “It doesn’t have to be this hard,” he whispered, “Just let me.”

“It’s not that easy,” Trott replied.

“This was.” Sips’ thumb brushed over the top of Trott’s knuckles. Trott’s hand was warm in his, but Sips let go when the selkie pulled it away.

Trott curled his fingers inward and lifted his hand up to his face to inspect Sips’ work. Each nail was carefully painted orange, and without a single smudge.

“It’s not that easy...” Trott repeated, but the words this time sounded unsure.

Sips smiled. “Easy as breathing.”

“If that’s what you think...” Trott sighed, shaking his head but smiling back. “How’d you learn how to paint nails, anyway?”

Sips kept smiling, but his grey eyes showed the pain the question brought. “Snuck into beauty school, once. Learned a lot.”

“I’ll bet.” Trott smirked.

Sips knew he didn’t believe him, but pretended otherwise. “Sure did, Trott,” he said instead, “Primadonna Beauty Salon, ask for Nancy.”

 

The memory slips from Sips’ mind as the clock in the kitchen tolls the hour. He gives a look out the window for their cab, but sits back when there’s no sign of it.

It was going to be nice to have a night out, just him and Trott. Out of the three fae, Trott had taken the longest to get close to. More often than not Sips would catch the selkie watching him as he spent time with Smith or Ross. It wasn't out of jealousy, that he could tell, but mere curiosity.

He knew he was an oddity. The crown on his head proved that much.

Sips treated Trott no different than the other two, regardless of Trott’s stoic outer personae. The selkie was just as interesting, if not more so because of the things he withheld. He was quieter than Smith and Ross, more calculating and tactical. Once Sips saw past Trott’s stern and cold facade, he noticed he had a wry sense of humor and a warm disposition. He was wicked smart in ways Sips could barely wrap his head around.

Trott’s magic in particular fascinated Sips. He’d known a little of magic before becoming king, and knew a little about fae, too. But the magic he’d seen Xephos and Honeydew use a decade ago was nothing like Trott’s. Learned versus innate, or so Trott said.

Sips made sure not to push too far, when asking questions. He knew enough about fae now to know Smith’s bridle, Trott’s skin, and Ross’ marble body were all magical in nature, and asking too many questions would make them (or at least, Trott) pull away. It didn’t make him any less curious, but the questions he did ask he didn’t get very good answers to. Mainly because he asked _why_ magic worked the way it did, and _how_ Trott made it happen.

“I don’t _why_ it works, it just _does_.” Trott sighed in exasperation after Sips had asked about some magic he was using. “I can’t really explain this without teaching you every single magic principle I know. You could just do some research on your own, Sips. Like the library. Or Google, even.”

Sips held his hands up in mock surrender, stepping away from Trott’s office door. He knew Trott’s agitation over something else was what was causing his sour mood. “Just asking, Trott. You’re good at this shit, that’s all, and I know nothing about it. Haven’t got a magical bone in my body.”

“Got a magical boner for you over here, ya bastard!” Smith shouted from the bedroom. Ross’ returning laugh echoed down the hall.

Sips cracked a smile, Trott shook his head, and that was the end of that conversation.

The mortal king knew Trott was always interested in knowledge. Sips wanted to know what Trott found so interesting about the world.

In the morning, over breakfast, he and Trott would talk. It was nice to debate over things with someone that wasn’t business-related. Late nights were spent watching movies in companionable silence and shared popcorn, often huddled under Trott’s selkie skin. They played cards (and chess until it got too competitive between them) and sometimes boardgames.

The nights in which Smith and Ross were out, Sips made an effort to keep Trott company. He didn’t feel obligated to, per say, but he felt like he was missing out if he didn’t. One on one time with Trott was a rarity, where Trott would forget he had to be in charge of everything and let himself relax.

Sips liked that. Trott didn’t worry about things, he didn’t stress about work, or stew in silence about something that pissed him off that day. Instead, he and Sips spent time together. Sips liked it the best when he spoiled Trott a bit, took him out someplace nice or to do something he knew Trott would never get to do with Smith and Ross.

They built shared experiences with each other, even though it was slow going and it hurt to do so more than anything. Trott held himself back for protection, when it came to parts of himself that he thought were vulnerable. Sips did it because he still couldn’t heal properly. Or not enough just yet to let them in so deeply. The more he let them know, the harder it hurt. They told him it didn’t really matter, when he’d mentioned not knowing much about any of them or they him.

“You don’t need to feel obligated to share, but if you’re curious about us, you can ask,” Ross told him one afternoon spent sunbathing on the roof, “Never hurts to ask questions, that’s what Trott says.”

Sips had smiled at that. Ross never thought it strange to voice his opinion, but of course not, when he’s spent centuries never speaking. The gargoyle didn’t like feeling forced to stay silent.

Even now, nearly a year after Sips had fallen in with these three dangerous fae, he was still surprised. And the hardest part to get over, strangely, wasn’t how dangerous they were. Despite all the people they killed, and the crimes they committed, the hardest part for Sips was letting himself fall. Letting himself get tangled up in their lives.

In some ways, he didn’t know why he was still around. Why they kept him with this crown on his head. Honestly, they could still kill him when the end of the year came up, and he wouldn’t be _that_ surprised...he sort of had it coming, being a botched King of Misrule, and all...

But in the meantime, a king must do what a king must do...even if “leading a court” meant “sitting from his couch-throne marathoning movies all day.” Sips wasn’t going to complain.

 

When half an hour passes, and the cab Sips’ ordered pulls up, Sips stands up from the couch.

"Trott?" Sips calls down the hall, "Cab's here. You ready?"

"Planning on drinking, are we?" Trott asks back.

"Eh, I didn't feel like driving. Might as well make it a proper date and get a chauffeur." Sips smirks.

Trott chuckles and comes into view in the bedroom doorway, and Sips' eyes widen. He’s wearing a knee-length little black dress that clings to his skin seductively; it fits off the shoulders, with lace along the top.

"Too much?" Trott asks quietly as he steps into a pair of heels. “I can change, if it is.”

"No." Sips shakes his head and the surprised expression on his face smoothes into a gentle smile. "You look amazing..." Elegant, definitely not over the top. Honestly makes Sips feel a little _under-_ dressed, and he’s wearing the suit he wore to work.

"Thank you." Trott's red-painted lips quirk into a smile. “You don’t find it weird?”

Sips snorts. “Out of all the weirdness in my life, you wearing a dress doesn’t even make the list.”

Trott grins and walks down the hall to meet him, fiddling with the snap on his clutch. “You keep a list?” The selkie asks dryly.

Sips smirks a little at the decrease in height difference because of Trott’s heels. “I sure do. Number one: Smiffy’s a fucking horse.”

Trott laughs. “Only part time. And rarely, nowadays.”

“It’s still pretty damn weird,” Sips replies.

“No weirder than the rest of us.” Trott shrugs. “Ross is a gargoyle; I’m a selkie...”

“Suppose that’s true,” Sips says quietly. He skims his fingertips down Trott’s side, feeling the silky fabric of the dress. It had to be expensive...where the fuck had Trott gotten this?

“What’s number two?” Trott asks, drawing Sips from his speculation.

Sips’ hand stops at the curve of Trott’s hip and draws away. “Number two: If Smiffy’s a horse, have we all technically fucked a horse?”

Trott scoffs, but amusement is clear in his eyes. The mascara he’s wearing makes the blue seem brighter than usual. “I don’t know who’s more sick of that joke, him or me.”

Sips chuckles. “I can imagine you’ve heard that way too many times, for as long as you’ve been around.”

“You can say that again,” Trott sighs, shaking his head, “There isn’t a single horse joke I haven’t already heard. Hell, Smith and I probably invented some of them.”

Sips laughs. “One of these days, Smiffy should go into a bar as a horse, glamored to fuck, and see if anyone notices.”

“As entertaining as that would be, it would take a lot of glamour to pull off. Smith’s a very pretty horse, but his charm wouldn’t be enough to convince a mortal he was human instead.” Trott’s smile threatens to break into a grin. “Is there any more to this list, or is it just every weird fae thing about us?”

Sips thinks to himself for a minute, peering down at Trott’s peep-toe heels as he adjusts his tie.  “There’s a number three, I suppose.”

“Which is what? Ross’ penchant for eating shiny rocks and minerals like they’re cookies?”

“No. Though I guess that’s number four. Number three is: It’s weird that I’m even king in the first place,” Sips mutters. He lifts his head and smiles, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

Trott stares at him for a beat of silence, and raises an eyebrow. “ _That’s_ weirder than Ross’ glass dick?”

Sips laughs.

The cab that he ordered honks, and two of them look out the window where it waits for them.

"Shall we?" Sips asks. He offers out his hand, and Trott takes it.

 

The cab ride is short, but Sips indulges in watching them drive through the city. The neon of passing lights flicker over the road. Trott stares out the window. His brown hair looks bronze-hued in the lamplight.

Trott smirks when he catches Sips’ eyes in the reflection, and Sips grins. Trott’s hand brushes his wrist, his delicate fingers framing the bones there before taking his hand. It’s a simple touch, but it feels electric, like Smith’s eyes had been the night they crowned him king. It sends a shiver down Sips’ spine just like it has times before. Trott smiles, a dark little smirk bordering on a grin, just for him.

The swanky restaurant Sips had chosen has soft jazz music playing in the background, mood lighting overhead, and comfortable leather booths. The tables are adorned in cloth napkins and tablecloths, and the place feels warm with a romantic ambiance.

Sips can see the gears in Trott’s mind turning as the selkie looks about the place, dollar signs climbing higher in his eyes. The waiter pours them each a glass of champagne before leaving them to look over the menu.

“Order whatever you like, Trott, bill’s on me,” Sips states, spreading his menu out across the table.

Trott purses his lips together for a moment, turning his glass of champagne around and around. “I suppose you can pay. You asked me out, after all,” he admits, lifting the glass to his lips and taking a drink.

Sips smiles, briefly looking up from the menu to meet Trott’s eyes. “I didn't ask, per say. But you dressed up, anyway. I appreciate it.”

Trott snorts. “Who says I dressed up for you?”

“I didn’t.”

They fall into a companionable silence, deciding what to order, and the waiter comes back around again.

Sips and Trott’s conversation is somewhat restrained at first. It’s not awkward between them, but it doesn’t start out as close or comfortable. Before long, though, they get to talking and joking with one another.

The waiter delivers a small side salad to start, with simple vinaigrette over fresh veggies.

“Not going to take off your crown while you eat?” Trott asks Sips.

“Nope. Slipped the waiter a fiver when he wasn’t looking.”

Trott snorts. "Hard to believe they let you wear that hat with your suit, Sips."

"At my work, I'm the boss- they can suck my dick," Sips retorts, "It’s better than those paper Burger King crowns, anyway.”

“Very true. The apartment smelled of Whoppers for months.”

“Besides, I'm king- that might have something to do with it. Nobody wants the Garbage Court on their ass."

Trott smiles and spears a piece of cucumber with his fork. "I doubt your human workers know what fae are."

"Not much they notice, that's for sure," Sips agrees.

"Did you know what we were?" Trott asks, curious.

Sips shakes his head. "No, not off the bat. Not until I was in over my head. But I knew a little about fae and what they were capable of. Guess I didn't expect anything to happen to an old fart like me."

"I was surprised when Smith brought you around. You're not exactly the type he normally picks."

"Probably a good thing that I wasn't." Sips chuckles.

"True. You'd definitely be dead, then."

"Sometimes I wonder how I didn't end up with you guys earlier. We were both in the city, and I partied plenty when I was younger. Yet we never crossed paths." Sips frowns as he eats. He glances out the window at the city streets bathed in evening light.

"You think Smith would have picked a younger you?"

"I think I would have drowned, yeah. Well- maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Ten years ago, I definitely would have let Smith drown me. More than that...” Sips looks back down at his salad. “I don't know."

Trott frowns slightly at Sips’ wording and the hollow expression on his face as he stabs his lettuce. He wants to ask more but Sips keeps on talking.

"What'd you think of me, when Smith brought me 'round back?"

Trott shrugs. "You looked like somebody's dad."

Sips laughs and reaches for his glass to take a drink. “I don’t think I’m dad material. I wouldn’t be around enough, with how much I work.”

“Would you have been if you were younger?”

The mortal king swirls his champagne in his glass with a pained expression. “I doubt it. But I don’t know,” he says with a sigh, “There’s no use in thinking of the past and what could have been.”

Trott watches Sips take a drink.

“Besides,” he chuckles, “It’s not like I’d raise kids now. I can’t imagine having them, at my age.”

“You’re not _that_ old.” Trott smirks wryly.

“In comparison to you, no. I can’t picture three fae raising a kid either, not without getting weird looks.”

“It would be suspicious if the Garbage Court raised a child,” Trott agrees, “And fuck knows we’re not the parental sort of people.”

Sips laughs. “You have a hard time even parenting yourselves.”

“Very true.” Trott scrapes his fork around his salad bowl, trying to scoop out the last dressing-soaked carrots. “You know, the longer you stuck around, Sips, the more I thought you were effectively Smith's boy toy, with how much the two of you had sex.”

“Shouldn't it be the other way around?”

“Exactly. And thus your crown has never wavered.” Trott grins

Sips shakes his head with a smile. “Alright, then. I’ll toast to that.”

 

The waiter returns to take their salad bowls, and they continue to sit and sip their champagne.

"How did you and Smith meet?" Sips asks, topping off his and Trott’s glasses.

"How do you think?"

"I think you two took the piss out of each other, and then realized you were in love.”

Trott chuckles. "Sounds like us. You’re not far from the truth. River and sea don't often mix." He looks away from Sips to stare out the window, pensive. “You know Smith found Ross in an abandoned church. He found me much the same way, I suppose.”

“What, did he set the sea on fire?”

Trott snorts bitterly. “No. Probably would have, if that was possible. But like Ross, I’d been left behind as well. Abandoned. Exiled.” He clams up and changes subject rapidly.

Sips can see the pain in his eyes. He knows it’s a sore subject and smiles sympathetically. That Trott had shared even something small meant...well, it meant more than Sips could say.

 

Their meal is finally delivered at last, and the selkie and the mortal king dig in.

"Did I tell you someone wants to invest in the shop?" Trott asks, cutting his steak into bite-sized pieces.

"You don't say," Sips mutters, “Must be kinky as all hell, to want to.”

“Must be fucking loaded with money. I don’t know...” Trott shakes his head. “It sounds like a scam, so I need to check it out in more detail. Could be someone trying to one-up us.”

Sips frowns mid-bite of his baked potato. “You don’t know that for certain. Not everybody in the city’s after you guys...right?”

“Define ‘everybody’. The Sidhe court tolerates us, only on the basis that they don’t want any of our territory. They think we’re a joke, so we stick to pranking them every so often. There are a few smaller courts in the Jury district which we’re neutral to, and everyone else doesn’t fight us. We’ve had minor courts try to worm their way in over the years, ruin our parties, run our streets. We’ve been relatively safe, where we are, but now with you being king...” Trott trails off, stabbing his fork into his baked potato and scraping the sides.

“I don’t get that.” Sips sets his knife and fork aside for a moment and swirls his drink. “What’s the big deal about a mortal with a crown?”

“Surely, you see the power imbalance?” Trott raises an eyebrow. “Three fae; one mortal. Wouldn’t be a big deal, if you worked for us, and the three of us held the crown. But that’s not how it is.”

There’s a serious look on Trott’s face as he slowly picks at his food. Sips sees his eyes dart around the room; sees the twist of his fingers to make sure they’re not being overheard.

“There’s magic in fae parties, Sips. For us, the parties are a conduit. Sacrifice gives us magic to barter and strengthen our threshold, and widen our territory. And this is important- fae are inherently magical beings. Not every mortal has magic in their blood.”

“I don’t.”

“Exactly. Therefore, keeping you king...makes us look weak.” There’s a darkness in his eyes, distrust...something about that, about seeming weak, really irks Trott’s core.

Sips makes a face and finishes his drink, picking up his knife and fork again. The scar on his palm is as pale white as the day it was made. “Well, the only thing about us that’s weak is my old man bladder.”

Trott snorts and rolls his eyes, and for a moment again, the stress lifts.

 

“Tell me more about your business, Sips.”

“Sipsco, you mean?” Sips grins.

“Yeah. Is it just a dirt company?”

“Yes and no. We cater to all kinds of agricultural businesses, farms, and ecological groups. It's not just dirt when you consider what it's used for. Landscaping, farming; what have you. And it's not just dirt that we work with, either. Algae, peat moss, plants, some botanicals...I even own some Christmas tree farms west of here.”

“Why’d you choose business for agriculture?”

Sips shrugs, looking thoughtfully down at his half-completed meal. "Big agricultural developments around here. It was an option back when I was starting out, setting down my roots in the city post-graduation." He roughly cuts into his steak and quickly diverts the conversation away from himself. "What made _you_ want to start a business, Trott?"

"Opportunity and interest. We needed the money, and I figured starting a shop would prove beneficial."

"So you started a magical sex shop?"

"Limited market availability, high demand, high profit." Trott smirks. "Economics 101, Sips- supply and demand."

Sips chuckles around a mouthful of potato and swallows. "I guess I should read up."

"You are pretty behind on the times."

Sips scoffs and rolls his eyes. "What do you mean 'behind on the times?'"

"Have you seen the way you dress?" Sips raises an eyebrow,.and Trott amends his statement. "When you're not wearing a suit, I mean."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. In fact..." Trott leans over the table and drops his voice slightly lower. "I'd bet you're wearing the most garish pair of neon boxers known to man, probably patterned with something beach themed. Like dolphins." His shoulders are bare and pale in the warm lighting, contrast the the black lace around the top of his dress.

Sips says nothing for a moment, taking a bite of cheesy broccoli and chewing slowly. "So maybe you bet right," he says, barely containing a smirk as he licks his fork clean.

Trott sits back in his seat with a laugh. "You should buy me dessert then."

"You should finish your meal first." Sips looks pointedly at the remainders of Trott's dinner.

"I'm working on it, don't rush me." Trott starts eating again with a smug smile.

"Look, all I'm saying," The mortal king says, gesturing with his fork, "Is that the 80s was a fantastic decade, and I'm all about immortalizing it."

"Just don't lose your head," Trott quips, smiling around his champagne glass as he takes a sip.

Sips smirks back at him, spearing a piece of steak on his fork. "Not planning on it."

 

Sips and Trott end up sharing dessert- a hot fudge sundae, topped with a cherry and chopped walnuts.

Trott pops the cherry into his mouth the second the waiter leaves the table. His lips quirk from side to side momentarily, until he opens his mouth and shows off the knotted cherry stem on the tip of his tongue.

"Aren't you saucy," Sips hums, twirling his spoon around the side of the glass to get equal amounts of ice cream and fudge.

Trott laughs and plucks the stem from his tongue. He drops it onto his leftover napkin from dinner and picks up his spoon.

"Did you learn that from Smith?" Sips asks.

Trott shakes his head. "I _taught_ that to Smith."

"Bull _shit_."

"It's true."

"No way."

"He'll deny it if you ask him, but I was the one who learned it first," Trott insists, taking a bite of ice cream.

Sips sucks the fudge off the spoon in his mouth. The warmth of the fudge melts the cold ice cream, melding the sweet flavors together.

"That sounds like a story I'd like to hear," he says, pulling the spoon free, "How'd you learn it?"

Trott shakes his head and takes another spoonful of the sundae. "Magicians never tell their secrets."

“Oh, come on!”

“Nope.”

“Wasn’t it from some tv show or something?”

“Not telling.”

The selkie smirks at Sips from across the table, and the mortal king sighs. Trott had been around so many more years than he himself had lived. Some things, he'll guess he'll never know the story of. Even if it is something as simple and silly as a parlor trick. He watches Trott eat another spoonful of ice cream and shakes his head. He must be a magician if he can keep his lipstick that immaculate all evening. Or was the lipstick magical? Did they even sell that kind of stuff? Probably.

They polish off the sundae in no time, and Sips pays for the bill on the table.

"Ready to go?" he asks Trott, sliding out of the booth and returning his wallet to his pocket.

"Yeah. Lets." Trott smiles and takes Sips arm as they walk through the restaurant.

The crisp autumn night is enough to coax a shiver from Trott when they step outside. Sips is just shy of offering his suit jacket, but Trott hails a cab, and they're quickly on their way back home.

 

When Sips and Trott get back to the apartment, Smith and Ross are still gone- probably off causing mischief somewhere in the city. Sips couldn't stop them if they tried. They're young at heart, and he doesn't care what they’re up to as long as they're safe. He just wishes it wouldn't worry Trott so much.

"This was nice," Trott says as they go inside.

Sips smiles. “It was. We should do this more often.” He hangs up his coat on the hooks next the entrance.

Trott chuckles back. “You know you don’t have to spend money on me, Sips, or take me out to dinner.”

“But I want to.”

“Is that how it is?”

“Maybe.” Sips steps closer to Trott, close enough to slip his hands around Trott’s waist. "Is this the part where I kiss you goodnight?" he asks.

"It can be. Or...it could be more."

"More than what?"

"More than just a kiss." Trott smirks. There’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he hooks his hands around the back Sips neck.

“Is that so...” Sips hums. He hides a giddy smile in the dip of Trott's throat and kisses slowly up the side of his neck, eventually meeting his lips.

Trott kisses back with fervor. They maneuver themselves to the bedroom, kissing on the way. Lipstick smears down Sips' neck. Trott throws his clutch aside and kicks off his heels. Sips sheds his suit jacket. It felt so good to get out of his suit at the end of a long day.

Trott sits down on the edge of the bed, and bats Sips’ hands away to undo his shirt himself. His dress is bunched up slightly around his waist. He stares up at Sips in the dim moonlight creeping in through the blinds, and kisses down Sips chest after each button is undone.

Sips steps out of his pants, watching while Trott presses a kiss above his waistband. He strokes his knuckles down Trott's cheek. He sheds his dress shirt, and reaches up to undo the tie Trott left around his neck.

Before he can, Trott scoots back on the bed and pulls Sips over him by his tie clasped tightly in had. They kiss heavily, grinding their hips, and Sips feels decades younger in an instant. When he opens his eyes momentarily he has to shake off the strange vision of dark, dark hair pooled against the pillow. He kisses hard under Trott's jaw, intent on leaving behind a bruise, and revels in the resultant moan the action provokes.

Sips slips his hand underneath Trott to unzip his dress. He slowly slides the silky fabric off of him and sits back on his heels when he sees what Trott's wearing underneath.

“Fuck, Trott...you look gorgeous like this,” Sips murmurs, rubbing his hand up Trott’s calf. Trott’s wearing a tiny pair of black lace satin panties, barely two inches wide at the hip, and leaving nothing to the imagination beneath the sheer flower-woven fabric.

Trott grins. “I was hoping you’d like them,” he says a little breathily.

Sips hums and smooths his hand up further, across Trott’s thigh. He smirks at the short intake of breath it produces. "You look fantastic," he sighs. His eyes connect with Trott's burning gaze. He traces the black lace lining Trott's inner thigh.

“Glad you think so,” Trott chuckles back.

"You should wear something like this more often..." Sips leans in and kisses Trott again, deeply, heavily. Trott pulls Sips closer by the back of his neck, cursing as Sips moves a hand between them and strokes him through the fabric. Trott's nails dig in slightly to the skin on the back of Sips' neck.

“Sips...” Trott murmurs, “Fuck. Fuck me.” He grinds his hips up into Sips’ hand with a ragged exhale. When Sips pulls back, Trott’s flushed before him, brown hair in slight disarray.

“Yeah?” Sips licks his lips and grins.

“Yeah. Fuck me.” Trott grins back.

“Alright.” Sips stretches over and grabs the lube off the side table. “You know, it’s a shame you’ll have to take these off. You look fantastic in ‘em.” He lightly snaps the waistband of Trott’s panties as he slicks his fingers.

Trott grins devilishly and flips over on the bed, legs on either side of Sips knees. Sips gapes. His lacy briefs are cut out in the back.

“ _Holy shit, Trott..._ ”

Trott smirks at him over his shoulder. Sips shakes his head and leans in to kiss his neck and jawline. “You filthy fuckin’ sneak...you went to dinner just to seduce me, didn’t you?” he murmurs, breath hot against Trott’s ear. He slowly presses his fingers inside of Trott, curling gently.

Trott laughs and arches himself back into Sips’ touch with a little groan. “It worked out just fine, didn’t it?”

“I didn’t think the _selkie_ , of all my court members, would try to seduce me,” Sips teases, curling his fingers harder and smiling at the pleased shudder that runs down Trott’s spine. His back is dotted with freckles, and though the scar under his shoulder blade had drawn Sips’ attention momentarily, he likes these the best. It’s like someone dipped a toothbrush in paint and flicked it across his skin like it’s a canvas. Sips still thinks Trott’s gorgeous, imperfections and all.

“You think Ross knows how to seduce people?” Trott banters back.

Sips snorts. “Please, he doesn’t need to. Have you seen the way he looks?”

Trott laughs again, ready to make another comment, but Sips curls his fingers hard once more and finally gets a wobbly moan in response.

“Fuck... _Sips_...”

Sips kisses across Trott’s shoulders and removes his fingers. “Ready, then?”

“Fucking _fuck me_ already, jeeze.” He lets out a short, breathless laugh.

Sips removes his boxers (bright neon green patterned with blue tropical fish), slicks himself up, and tosses the lube back onto the side table. His hands caress the fabric across Trott’s hips as he lines himself up and pushes in. He leans over Trott momentarily, waiting, perched over Trott’s back. A moment or two later he gets down on his elbows on either side of Trott’s head and pecks an apologetic kiss to the back of his neck. He’s not as strong as he used to be- he can’t hold himself up that long.

“Alright?” he asks.

Trott takes another deep breath and nods. “Move.”

Sips follows his direction, slowly fucking into him and minutely adjusting his angle to better please Trott. He cranes his neck over Trott’s shoulder to kiss him intermittently, glancing down at himself fucking Trott’s ass in the lacy cut-out panties.

“Fuck, _Trott_...” Sips curses, grinding his hips as Trott thrust back onto him, “I’m not gonna last.”

Trott lets out a quiet moan, wrenching his hands into the pillow above him for a little more leverage. “Fuck, just- fuck-”

Sips muffles his groan into Trott’s shoulder, thrusting hard a few more times before his climax rolls over him. It makes his whole body shake, and amidst the haze of the afterglow he has to consciously remember not to faceplant on top of Trott. He sits up and pulls out of Trott, tapping the selkie’s hip and telling him to roll over.

The minute he does, Sips settles down again, hefting Trott’s legs over his shoulders and lifting his hips upward. He rubs his palm against Trott’s dick through his lace panties, and Trott jerks under the touch.

“Fuck, Sips-”

Sips trails his tongue over the tented fabric, down over Trott’s balls and perineum, and across his rim. He teases around the edge before slipping one finger in, and then his tongue.

Trott muffles a shriek. “Fuck- oh _fuck, Sips._ ” He wrenches his hand in the short hair at the nape of Sips’ neck.

Sips’ stubble grazes the inside of Trott’s thighs as he continues, curling his finger and tongue and rubbing his palm against Trott’s clothed erection.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , Sips!” Trott’s heels dig into Sips’ back. Sips slows his movements as Trott comes, pulling away and gently lowering Trott’s legs back to the bed. He slides Trott’s lace briefs off and uses them to clean themselves up the best he can.

“You alright?” he asks. He throws the panties off the bed and sidles up close, kissing Trott smoothly on the cheek.

“I can’t believe...you fucking...” Trott pants, laughing.

“What, Smiffy never eat you out, Trott?”

“No. Believe it or not, that’s one of the few things off the table for him.”

Sips idly scratches his stubble. “Huh. Well- any complaints?”

“Besides that you need to brush your teeth before you kiss me on the lips?” Trott smiles. “No. I’m good.”

“Fantastic.” Sips nuzzles his cheek.

“You’ve got lipstick all over you, you know,” Trott points out with a laugh.

Sips looks down at himself, at the smears of red across his chest. “Fuck...why did this come off on my skin, but not anything else near your mouth?”

“Magic.” Trott smirks. His makeup still looks immaculate.

“Well, if it only comes off on skin, you don’t need to get up to remove it, do you?”

“Well...” Trott purses his lips and looks towards the open bedroom door.

“Come on Trott, it can wait a little. Can’t it? Do you have work to do or something?" Sips asks, a little flabbergasted.

“No, I just-”

“Smith and Ross are fine, and they'll be home soon, so get in here."

Sips pats the bed next to himself with a flap of his hand, and Trott laughs and humors him.

Trott smiles and settles down, inserting himself under Sips’ arm. “I do have to admit, this is awfully comfortable,” he remarks, leaning into Sips’ chest.

“Damn right, I am a comfy motherfucker to cuddle.” Sips kisses the top of his head and pulls him closer with an arm around his waist.

"Was you asking me out on a date your secret plan to get me to sleep with you?" Trott asks cheekily.

"Who says it was a secret? Though technically..." Sips mutters, "It's _your_ bed, and you're the one who pulled me into it first."

Trott sighs against Sips' shoulder with an amused smile. "I suppose you're right..."

Sips hums and briefly tugs the sheets up before settling his arm across Trott's waist again and smiling. "Too right, Trott. Trust me."

**Author's Note:**

> I really like the idea that one of Sips' past jobs was working at a nail salon. Gossiping with all the old ladies.
> 
> streetlights:  
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/133658006929/vaziuoju-kaunas-11-12
> 
> Smith and Ross are off playing mailbox baseball in the suburbs. Because of all the racket, an old lady with her hair in curlers, and a face mask, pajamas, bathrobe and slippers, stumbles towards them shaking a rolling pin.  
> "Shit, drive!" Cackling madly, gunning it down the street.  
> Later on, laying back on the hood of Smith's car, digesting late night breakfast food, sleepy in each other's arms.  
> Ross lifts his head a tad to look east over the back of the car. Was it just him, or was the sky getting brighter?  
> "Crap, Smith. The sun's coming up." He leans his head back down with a thunk against the glass windshield.  
> "Shit...what?" Smith yawns. He blinks sleepily and sits up to peek over the top of the car. "Fuck. I guess you're right." He lays back down and snuggles into Ross' chest.  
> The gargoyle chuckles at the sight. "We should get back before Trott throws a fit, Smith. He's probably worried as it is."  
> "Mmmm, five more minutes," Smith murmurs into Ross' t-shirt.  
> Ross chuckles and kisses the top of Smith's head. "Alright. I guess it can wait."  
> He settles back again and watches the sky shift and change as their night turns to day.


End file.
